Weekly
by Katzchen
Summary: Nagi has a hero worship complex, and he and Crawford read the newspaper everymorning. Introspec., oneshot..


[A sort of blah written in the stead of an LA outline. *sweats* it's a wee bit angsty, though nothing quite special. Not to long- won't take much of your time, so read and review, kudasai, and remember that reviews are "what goes around comes around" deals.]

[DISCLAIMER: although I don't own Weiß Kruez, I assure you that I'd spend my days scouring fanfic for copyright violations if I did. ]

Weekly

__

Schuldig was swearing at the coffee maker. That was what Nagi woke up to, most mornings. Actually, most mornings he woke up about two hours before Schuldig and was able to avoid his grouchiness altogether, but the fact remained that Schuldig was not lucid until he'd implemented his entire repertoire of vulgarities.

And he was relying heavily on personification; insulting the appliance's parentage, sexual orientation, fate after death. 

Crawford was awake and reading a newspaper. It was an English newspaper, salmon coloured with no photographs at all. Nagi had asked him, long ago, why he read a pink newspaper, and where were the pictures? And Crawford had explained, detached and patient but never kind, that it was _salmon, _and it was a business newspaper that didn't cover events, and that he should be finishing his homework. Nagi had nodded and the next day he had started to read the newspaper also, but in Japanese. And it wasn't a business newspaper, it was the Tokyo Sun that came in a blue wrapper outside their door. But it mattered that Crawford had seen his newspaper that morning and had looked vaguely satisfied. Satisfied, that Nagi would be more conscious of events, and that would be useful in missions and meetings, but not proud, like a parent or an elder sibling would be. He was satisfied. And that would have to do. 

Crawford took a sip of his own coffee, and Schuldig shot him a dirty look, because Crawford had coffee and he didn't. But that was because no appliance dared to malfunction for Crawford, nothing dared malfunction for Crawford. Not even Farfarello. Not even Schuldig, even though he liked to pretend otherwise. Crawford didn't ask for their best work, he demanded they fill his own expectations. And they met them. 

Farfarello would just kill and kill and kill but he would stop when Crawford told him to, and Schuldig would sneer and refuse and question but he knew the same thing that they all did - That you had better obey Crawford. That you weren't Crawford's equal or coworker or fellow human, you were his slave and his machine, and you would jump if he said jump and you would kill if he said kill and you would shoot even if he told you to point the gun to your own head. 

Nagi knew it too. But he respected Crawford. Wanted a parent but he had never even known a caretaker, so he just respected Crawford. Maybe he wanted something more, like some pride or a smile, however small, maybe even a hug when his dreams became nightmares, or maybe he wanted someone to love him, a little. But Crawford didn't love anyone. Not Ess-zett, though he spent his days kissing the collective asses of its elders, not Schuldig, though he spent his nights with him and what they did _should_ have been out of love, but it wasn't. Not Farfarello, even though he paid ridiculous amounts for his medication and housing and sanity, and definitely not Nagi. But Nagi followed him around like a puppy who just wanted a pat on the head, and he felt pathetic for doing it, but if Crawford would just say "I am proud of your accomplishments, Nagi", it would be worth the insult to his dignity, and it would be worth the killing and the pain and the nights that he'd cried.

But he just felt pathetic.

He sat down across from Crawford, and picked up the newspaper left there for him. Crawford had put it there, taken it out of the plastic and set it down for Nagi, which would have cheered him had it been done out of affection, but it wasn't. Crawford put it there because he wanted Nagi to be aware of the world, and Nagi wanted Crawford to be aware of _him_, and neither of them said a word.

The newspaper was damp, and the edges were fragile and curled. It had rained, last night or maybe very early in the morning. It was not raining anymore, but the newspaper was wet. 

Crawford was sipping his coffee and carefully checking on the Dow Jones quotes, and Schuldig had given up on the coffee machine and taken out a cigarette. Nagi opened his newspaper, but he didn't read it, because it made him sick. The shameless emulation, the quaint need of parental affection. The damp paper smudged dark ink on his fingers, and Crawford never got ink _anywhere_, you could tell because he wore white, and an ink stain would show like a bullet hole. But he wore white, and he kept it white, a silent boast to anyone whom he passed that he was fastidious and efficient. But Crawford never bragged. He told the facts, and if the facts were that they were the best out there, he said it, and if the truth was that they were the best because of _him_, then he said it. 

And he was utterly unreadable, Schuldig complained that his mind was unreadable. But Nagi wasn't a telepath, so he couldn't see the direct inconvenience Crawford posed in that sense. But it was unnerving, his face, his eyes, his posture, all completely bland, perhaps a little threatening.

His eyes weren't like Farfarello's, because when you looked into his eyes too long you saw what he was feeling, and his eyes said _why did You do this and why did You let _me_ do it couldn't You have done something but you never do anything and I hate You but at least I believe in You or I hate You to believe in You and if You would hate me I would just know that You exist and it would all be worth it._

And Schuldig, his eyes said _get away from me, I don't care at all, if you touch me I'll kill you, can kill you, and you're pathetic so get the hell away from me, because I can hear you and I can kill you and it will make you quiet at least_. And sometimes, when he was around Crawford, and you looked a little closer, you saw _get away, leave me alone, but don't –please stay, I want the silence, that's all, but please stay I can't tell who I am anymore, please, just don't go right now, I can't even hear myself but I can hear you talking_

But Crawford, you could stare into his eyes forever and you wouldn't see a thing, couldn't see any weakness or emotion or thoughts, nothing at all, nothing, because Crawford had no weakness, and he wasn't hiding any; he was invincible.

Nagi wanted to be invincible. Nagi wanted to feel nothing, like Crawford, but at the same time he wanted to be loved, and maybe that was too much to ask, since he didn't love anyone, and was pretty sure that love was one of those give to receive deals. 

Did Crawford love anyone? Stupid question. Did Crawford have any family? Any blood anywhere that he had looked up to, once upon a time. Stupid question.

Crawford didn't share blood with anyone, Crawford didn't have any blood because he didn't _bleed_. And he didn't have any feelings because he didn't _cry_. It was like he didn't have feelings other than the gun in his hand, his hand around the gun. Like he didn't see that there were things other than the exchange of money and the cleanliness of character that he so prized. 

Why why why why why. _There is no justice in this world _, Schuldig had said that once, but it had been laced with profanities and he'd been drunk. 

Nagi slapped the paper on the table, it gave a damp sort of _smack _and lay still as he walked out of the room, and his palms had smears of ink on them.

Crawford wore a white Armani suit, and his eyes were unreadable, not carefully blank but naturally without character. He read American stock quotes in what was never a show of nostalgia but a resignation to a world outside of Japan.

__

"Get up." He extended his hand, and his suit was white and clean and backlit and he was a savior, with the light behind his head and his clean pale hand reaching out. 

"Come with me." He instructed next, and he was still a savior, he held out his hand and said "come"_ and Nagi came._


End file.
